It Ain't Me, Babe

I flinched at his violent words, his aggressive tone. The men in the room frowned and watched me with assessing narrowed eyes, then gaped at Styx in shock.

“Who is she, Styx? How do you know her?” That same feminine voice from before cut through the grumblings of the men. The brown-haired woman confronted Styx, her wary eyes assessing the mood of the crowd.

Styx blocked her from getting closer with his hand and curtly shook his head. That hard, severe look was back on his face.

“Styx—” she whispered brokenly.

Stepping forward, Styx’s hands moved fast. The woman obviously understood the strange hand gestures Styx made. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned and hurried away.

Styx took my hand in his and walked toward the corridor, Ky shouting, “Beauty!” as Styx pointed to somebody with his free hand.

With a glance back, I noticed the men and women remained standing as if frozen in place. They watched us go, staring in questioning fascination. The brown-haired woman watched too from the back of the room, a haunted, devastated look on her face. Her tears now streamed down her cheeks.

We entered the bedroom where I had previously woken up. Styx guided me to the bed, pushing on my shoulders to sit me down. The pretty blonde walked in through the door after us. Styx turned his attention to her, saying something with his hands.

“They’re in Tank’s room. I’ll go get them. I’ll leave them outside your door,” the blonde answered in response. She turned and left the room.

We were alone.

Styx moved the black chair opposite the bed, then sat down and stared at me. His large hazel eyes checked every inch of me and, in response, my body began to tremble. He did not say a word, but those hazel irises never once left mine. Weirdly, the silence in the room seemed deafening.

Searching for a distraction from his intense gaze, I turned my head to admire the large picture dominating his wall. The picture was of a large, two-wheeled machine. I smiled and realization dawned. It must be a motorbike.

Standing up, I walked to the picture, running my fingers over the shape of its frame. Casting a glimpse back to Styx, I saw he was still watching me, his large frame now leaning forward intently, elbows on his knees. With a smile, I pointed to the picture and he walked over to stand beside me. With a nod of his head, he signaled that he knew what I was asking.

Giving him a small smile, I went back to sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. Styx followed my every move. Prophet David taught us that desiring material goods was a sin, but I liked the expression on Styx’s face when he looked at the picture of the motorbike. It seemed to make him happy.

Rubbing at my sore eyes, feeling drained, feeling empty, I knew I would have to face recent events soon. I would not be able to block them out forever.

Styx moved to the chair, sitting before me yet again, as though he could sense my dismay. He tilted his head in question, asking silently what was wrong.

I had managed to evade my reality long enough. Part of me could almost pretend it was just a horrible nightmare, more so as I sat in this strange darkened room with Styx. However, flashes of Bella, motionless, lying broken on the floor of that cell, stabbed relentlessly at my conscience, piercing emotional walls. I shook my head profusely, trying to rid my mind’s eye of those horrific scenes.

Severe punishments were common amongst my people, a necessity to prevent others from falling from the path of righteousness. But Bella was my sister, she could not love Gabriel, and that was her downfall, plain and simple. I would rather live in eternal damnation here on the outside than marry the man who sanctioned the relentless abuse of my true flesh and blood.

Awkwardly, Styx moved toward me. He gently ran his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the wetness. It took me a moment to realize I was crying. Emotions were forbidden in the commune, but I could not stop the tears. My chest tightened and I gripped his wrists, needing his support. Silent involuntary cries ripped from my chest and I let the pain take hold. I really cried for the first time in my life.

Styx moved beside me and an arm circled my shoulders, which made me jump. I glanced up at Styx’s rugged face: those hazel eyes, big soft lips, rough cheeks marked by a few small scars. His tongue licked at the silver ring through his bottom lip and a large set of dimples set on his cheeks. Those dark, soft delves made him seem less… severe, more human.

As I once more fixed my eyes on this big, silent man, so different from the boy I met, I crumbled. I gave in. This was everything I had been taught was wrong, but I could not help but cherish his touch. His strong arms encased me, warming me, comforting me, letting me feel safe. I held on tightly to his leather vest—he smelled of leather, soap, and smoke, and something else, something really… good. I had never ever been held like this before, never soothed. The only type of affection I had ever received was on those days. Even then, touching like this was strictly prohibited.